The Adventures of Tom Sawyer: Chapter 03-04

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Chapter three, Busy at War
and Love, Tom presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was
sitting by an open window in a pleasant rearward apartment
which was bedroom, breakfast room, dining room, and library. Combined,
the balmy summer air, the RESTful quiet, the odor of

(00:23):
the flowers, and the drowsing murmur of the bees had
had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting,
for she had no company but the cat, and it
was asleep in her lap. Her spectacles were propped up
on her gray head for safety. She had thought that,
of course, Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered
at seeing him place himself in her power again in

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this intrepid way. He said, mean't I go and play? Now? Aunt?
What already? How much have you done? It's all done,
Aunt Tom, don't lie to me. I can't bear it.
I ain't aunt. It is all done. Aunt Polly placed
small trust in such evidence. She went out to see

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for herself, and she would have been content to find
twenty percent of Tom's statement true when she found the
entire fence whitewashed, and not only whitewashed, but elaborately coated
and re coated, and even a streak added to the ground.
Her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She said, well, I never,
there's no getting round it. You can work when you're

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a mind to Tom, And then she diluted the compliment
by adding, but it's powerful. Seldom you're a mind to
I'm bound to say, well, go along and play, but
mind you get back some time in a week, or
I'll tan you. She was so overcome by the splendor
of his achievement that she took him into the closet
and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him,

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along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor.
A treat took to itself when it came without sin
through virtuous effort, and while she closed with a happy
scriptural flourish, he hooked a doughnut. Then he skipped out
and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway that
led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods

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were handy, and the air was full of them. In
a twinkling, they raged around Sid like a hail storm,
and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties and
sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken
personal effect, and Tom was over the fence and gone.
There was a gait, but as a general thing he
was too crowded for time to make use of it.

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His soul was at peace now that he had settled
with Sid for calling attention to his black thread and
getting him into trouble. Tom skirted the block and came
round into a muddy alley that led by the back
of his aunt's cow stable. He presently got safely beyond
the reach of capture and punishment, and hastened towards the
public square of the village, where two military companies of

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boys had met for conflict. According to previous disappointment, Tom
was general of one of these armies, Joe Harper, a
Bosom friend, general of the other. These two great commanders
did not condescend to fight in person, that being better
suited to the still smaller fry, but sat together on
an imminence and conducted the field operations by orders delivered

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through aide de camp. Tom's army won a great victory
after a long and hard fought battle. Then the dead
were counted, prisoners exchanged, the terms of the next disagreement
agreed upon, and the day for the necessary battle appointed,
after which the armies fell into line and marched away,
and Tom turned homeward alone. As he was passing by

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the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new
girl in the garden, a lovely little blue eyed creature
with yellow hair plaited into two long tails, white summer
frock and embroidered pantalets. The fresh crowned hero fell without
firing a shot. A certain Amy Lawrence vanished out of
his heart and left not even a memory of herself behind.

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He had thought he loved her to distraction. He had
regarded his passion as adoration. And behold it was only
a poor, little evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her,
She had confessed hardly a week ago. He had been
the happiest and the proudest boy in the world only
seven short days, and here, in one instant of time

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she had gone out of his heart, like a casual
stranger whose visit is done. He worshiped this new angel
with furtive eye till he saw that she had discovered him.
Then he pretended he did not know she was present,
and began to show off in all sorts of absurd
boyish ways in order to win her admiration. He kept
up this grotesque foolishness for some time, but by and by,

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while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic performances,
he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was
wending her way toward the house. Tom came up to
the fence and leaned on it, grieving and hoping she
would tarry yet a while longer. She halted a moment
on the steps, and then moved toward the door. Tom
heaved a great sigh as she put her foot on

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the threshold, but his face lit up right away, for
she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before
she disappeared. The boy ran around and stopped within a
foot or two of the flower, and then shaded his
eyes with his hand and began to look down street,
as if he had discovered something of interest going on
in that direction. Presently, he picked up a straw and

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began trying to balance it on his nose with his
head tilted far back, And as he moved from side
to side in his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer
toward the pansy. Finally, his barefoot rested upon it. His
pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with
a treasure and disappeared round the corner, but only for
a minute, only while he could button the flower inside

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his jacket, next his heart, or next his stomach, possibly
for he was not much posted in anatomy and not
hyper critical anyway. He returned now and hung about the
fence till nightfall, showing off as before. But the girl
never exhibited herself again, though Tom comforted himself a little
with the hope that she had been near some window

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meantime and been aware of his attentions. Finally, he rode
home reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions. All
through supper, his spirits were so high that his aunt
wondered what had got into the child. He took a
good scolding about clotting Sid, and did not seem to
mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar
under his aunt's very nose and got his knuckles wrapped

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for it. He said, Aunt, you don't whack Sid when
he takes it. Well, Sid, don't torment a body the
way you do. You'd be always into that sugar if
I warn't watching you. Presently, she stepped into the kitchen,
and Sid, happy in his immunity, reached for the sugar bowl,
a sort of glorying over Tom, which was well nigh unbearable.

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But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and broke.
Tom was ecstasies, in such ecstasies that he even controlled
his tongue and was silent. He said to himself that
he would not speak a word even when his aunt
came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked
who did the mischief, and then he would tell, and

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there would be nothing so good in the world as
to see that pet model catch it. He was so
brim full of exultation that he could hardly hold himself.
When the old lady came back and stood above the wreck,
discharging lightnings of wrath from over her spectacles, he said
to himself, now it's coming, And the next instant he
was sprawling on the floor. The potent palm was uplifted

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to strike again when Tom cried out, hold on, now,
what are you belting me? For? Sid broke it. Aunt
Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity, but
when she got her tongue again, she only said, humph,
well you didn't get a lick, amiss. I reckon, you've
been into some other odacious mischief when I wasn't around

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like enough. Then, when her conscience reproached her, and she
yearned to say something kind and loving, but she judged
that this would be construed into a confession that she
had been in the wrong and disciplined forbad that, so
she kept silence and went about her affairs with a
troubled heart. Tom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes.

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He knew that in her heart his aunt was on
her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by
the consciousness of it. He would hang out no signals,
he would take notice of none. He knew that a
yearning glance fell upon him now and then through a
film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He
pictured himself lying sick, unto death, and his aunt bending

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over him, beseeching one little forgiving word. But he would
turn his face to the wall and die with that word, unsaid, Ah,
how would she feel? Then? And he pictured himself brought
home from the river dead, with his curls all wet,
and his sore heart at rest. How she would throw
herself upon him, and how her tears would fall like rain,

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and her lips pray God to give her back her boy,
and she would never never abuse him any more. But
he would lie there, cold and white and make no sign,
a poor little sufferer whose griefs were at an end.
He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos of
these dreams, that he had to keep swallowing. He was
so like to choke, and his eyes swam in a

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blur of water, which overflowed when he winked, and ran
down and trickled from the end of his nose. And
such a luxury to him was this petting of his sorrows,
that he could not bear to have any worldly cheeriness
or any grating delight intrude upon it. It was too
sacred for such contact. And so presently, when his cousin
Mary danced in, all alive with the joy of seeing

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home again after an age long visit of one week
to the country, he got up and moved, in clouds
and darkness out at one door, as she brought song
and sunshine in at the other. He wandered far from
the accustomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate places that
were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in
the river invited him, and he seated himself on its

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outer edge and contemplated the dreary, vastness of the stream,
wishing the while that he could only be drowned all
at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the uncomfortable routine devised
by nature. Then he thought of his flower. He got
it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his
dismal felicity. He wondered if she would pity him if

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she knew. Would she cry and wish that she had
a right to put her arms round his neck and
comfort him, or would she turn coldly away like all
the hollow world. This picture brought such an agony of
pleasurable suffering that he worked it over and over again
in his mind, and set it up anew and varied
lights till he wore it threadbare. At last, he rose up, sighing,

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and departed in the darkness. About half past nine or
ten o'clock. He came along the deserted street to where
the adored unknown lived. He paused a moment no sound
fell upon his listening ear. A candle was casting a
dull glow upon the curtain of a second story window.
Was the sacred presence there. He climbed the fence, threaded

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his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under
that window. He looked up at it long and with emotion.
Then he laid him down on the ground under it,
disposing himself upon his back, with his hands clasped upon
his breast and holding his poor wilted flower. And thus
he would die out in the cold world, with no
shelter over his homeless head, no friendly hand to wipe

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the death damps from his brow, no loving face to
bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And
thus she would see him when she looked out upon
the glad morning. And oh, would she drop one little
tear upon his poor lifeless form. Would she heave one
little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted,

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so untimely cut down? The window went up. A maidservant's
discordant voice profaned the holy calm, and a deluge of
water drenched the prone martyr's remains. The strangling hero sprang
up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz as
of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur
of a curse. A sound as of shivering glass followed,
and a small vague form went over the fence and

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shot away in the gloom. Not long after, as Tom,
all undressed for bed, was surveying his drenched garments by
the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up. But
if he had any dim idea of making any references
to illusions, he thought better of it and held his peace,
for there was danger in Tom's eye. Tom turned in

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without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental
note of the omission. End of chapter three. Chapter four,
showing off in Sunday school, the sun rose upon a
tranquil whirl and beamed down upon the peaceful village like
a benediction. Breakfast over Aunt Polly had family worship. It

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began with a prayer built from the ground up of
solid courses of scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin
mortar of originality, and from the summit of this she
delivered a grim chapter of the Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.
Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and
went to work to get his verses. Sid had learned

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his lesson days before. Tom bent all his energies to
the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of
the sermon on the mount because he could find no
verses that were shorter. At the end of half an hour,
Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but
no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field
of human thought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations.

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Mary took his book to hear him recite, and he
tried to find his way through the fog. Blessed are
the ah ah poor, yes poor. Blessed are the poor
in spirit. In spirit. Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for they they theirs. For theirs. Blessed are the poor

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in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed
are they that mourn, For they they sh for they
s h a for they s h oh. I don't
know what it is. Shall oh shall for they shall,
for they shall shall mourn. Blessed are they that shall

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that they that they that shall mourn. For they shall
shall what why why don't you tell me? Mary? What
do you want to be so mean? For? Oh, Tom,
you poor thick headed thing. I'm not teasing you. I
wouldn't do that. You must go and learn it again.
Don't you be discouraged. Tom. You'll manage it, and if
you do, I'll give you some ever. So nice there, Now,

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that's a good boy. All right? What is it? Mary?
Tell me what it is? Never you mind, Tom. You
know if I say it's nice, it is nice. You
bet you? That's so. Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again.
And he did tackle it again, and under the double
pressure of curiosity and prospective gain, he did it with
such spirit that he accomplished a shining success. Mary gave

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him a brand new Barlow knife, worth twelve and a
half cents, and the convulsion of delight that swept his
system shook him to his foundations. True, the knife would
not cut anything, but it was a sure enough Barlow,
and there was inconceivable grandeur in that. Though where the
Western boys ever got the idea that such a weapon
could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing

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mystery and will always remain so. Perhaps Tom contrived to
scarify the cupboard with it, and was arranging to begin
on the bureau when he was called off to dress
for Sunday school. Mary gave him a tin basin of
water and a piece soap, and he went outside the
door and set the basin on a little bench there.
Then he dipped the soap in the water and laid
it down, turned up his sleeves, poured out the water

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on the ground gently, and then entered the kitchen and
began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind
the door. But Mary removed the towel and said, now,
ain't you ashamed, Tom? You mustn't be so bad. Water
won't hurt you. Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin
was refilled, and this time he stood over it a

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little while, gathering resolution, took in a big breath, and
began when he entered the kitchen presently with both eyes
shut and groping for the towel with his hands, an
honorable testimony of SuDS and water was dripping from his face.
But when he emerged from the towel, he was not
yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his
chin and his jaws like a mask. Below and beyond

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this line there was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil
that spread downward in front and backward around his neck.
Mary took him in hand, and when she was done
with him, he was a man and a brother without
distinction of color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed,
and its short curls wrought into a dainty and symmetrical

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general effect. He privately smoothed out the curls with labor
and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his head,
for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled
his life with bitterness. Then Mary got out a suit
of his clothing that had been used only on Sundays
during two years. They were simply called his other clothes,

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and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe.
The girl put him to rights, after he had dressed himself.
She buttoned his neat round about up to his chin,
turned his vast shirt collar down over his shoulders, brushed
him off, and crowned him with his speckled straw hat.
He now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable. He was fully

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as uncomfortable as he looked, for there was a restraint
about hold clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He hoped
that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted.
She coated them thoroughly with tallow as was the custom,
and brought them out. He lost his temper and said
he was always being made to do everything he didn't
want to do. But Mary said persuasively, please Tom, that's

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a good boy. So he got into the shoes snarling.
Mary was soon ready and the three children set out
for Sunday school, a place that Tom hated with his
whole heart, but sid and Mary were fond of Sabbath.
School hours were from nine to half past ten, and
then church service. Two of the children always remained for

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the sermon voluntarily, and the other always remained too, for
stronger reasons. The church's high backed, uncushioned pews would seat
about three hundred persons. The edifice was but a small
plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree box
on top of it for a steeple. At the door,
Tom dropped back a step and accosted to Sunday dressed

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comrade say Billy got a yowler ticket. Yes, well you
take for her? Will you give piece of licorice and
a fish hook? Let's see him, Tom exhibited. They were
satisfactory in the property changed hands. Then Tom traded a
couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some
small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones.

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He waylaid other boys as they came, and went on
buying tickets of various colors. Ten or fifteen minutes longer,
he entered the church, now with a swarm of clean
and noisy boys and girls. Proceeded to his seat and
started a quarrel with the first boy that came handy.
The teacher, a grave elderly man, interfered, then turned his
back a moment, and Tom pulled a boy's hair in

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the next bench and was absorbed in his book. When
the boy turned round, stuck a pin in another boy
presently in order to hear him say ouch, and got
a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class were
of a pattern, restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came
to recite their lessons. Not one of them knew his
verses perfectly, but had to be prompted all along, However,

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they worried through, and each got his reward in small
blue tickets, each with a passage of scripture on it.
Each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the recitation.
Ten blue tickets equaled a red one and could be
exchanged for it. Ten red tickets equaled a yellow one.
For ten yellow tickets, the superintendent gave a very plainly

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bound bible worth forty cents in those easy days to
the pupil. How many of my readers would have the
industry and application to memorize two thousand verses even for
a Doray Bible, And yet Mary had acquired two bibles.
In this way. It was the patient work of two years,
and a boy of German parentage had won four or five.

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He once recited three thousand verses without stopping. But the
strain upon his mental faculties was too great, and he
was little better than an idiot from that day forth
a grievous misfortune for the school, For on great occasions
before company, the superintendent, as Tom expressed, it had always
made this boy come out and spread himself. Only the

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older pupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to
their tedious work long enough to get a Bible, and
so the delivery of one of these prizes was a
rare and noteworthy circumstance. The successful pupil was so great
and conspicuous for that day that on the spot every
scholar's heart was fired with a fresh ambition that often
lasted a couple of weeks. It is possible that Tom's

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mental stomach had never really hungered for one of those prizes,
but unquestionably his entire being had for many a day
longed for the glory and the eclaw that came with it.
In due course, the superintendent stood up in front of
the pulpit with a closed hymn book in his hand
and his forefinger inserted between its leaves, and commanded attention.

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When a Sunday school superintendent makes his customary little speech,
the hymn book in the hand is as necessary as
is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of
a singer who stands forward on the platform and sings
a solo at a concert. Though why is a mystery,
for neither the hymn book nor the sheet of music
is ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent was

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a slim creature of thirty five, with a sandy goatee
and short sandy hair. He wore a stiff, standing collar
whose upper edge almost reached his ears, and whose sharp
points curved forward abreast the corners of his mouth, a
fence that compelled a straight look out ahead, and a
turning of the whole body when a side view was required.

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His chin was propped on a spreading cravat, which was
as broad and as long as a bank note, and
had fringed ends. His boot toes were turned sharply up
in the fashion of the day, like sleigh runners, an
effect patiently and laboriously produced by the young men by
sitting with their toes pressed against a wall for hours together.
Mister Walters was very, very earnest of mean, and very

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sincere and honest at heart, and he held sacred things
and places in such reverence, and so separated them from
worldly matters that, unconsciously to himself, his Sunday school voice
had acquired a peculiar intonation which was wholly absent on
week days. He began after this fashion. Now, children, I
want you all to sit up just as straight and

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pretty as you can, and give me all your attention
for a minute. Or two there. That is it. That
is the way good little boys and girls should do.
I see one little girl who is looking out of
the window. I am afraid she thinks I am out
there somewhere, perhaps up in one of the trees, making
a speech to the little birds, a plausive titter. I

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want to tell you how good it makes me feel
to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in
a place like this, learning to do right and be good,
and so forth and so on. It is not necessary
to set down the rest of the oration. It was
of a pattern which does not vary, and so it
is familiar to us. All. The latter third of the
speech was marred by the resumption of fights and other

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recreations among certain that the bad boys, and by fidgetings
and whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to
the bases of isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary.
But now every sound ceased suddenly with the subsidence of
mister Walter's voice, and the conclusion of the speech was
received with a burst of silent gratitude. A good part

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of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which
was more or less rare the entrance of visitors, Lawyer Thatcher,
accompanied by a very feeble and aged man, a fine
portly middle aged gentleman with iron gray hair, and a
dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's wife. The lady
was leading a child. Tom had been restless and full

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of chafings and repinings, conscience smitten too. He could not
meet Amy Lawrence's bad he could not brook her loving gaze.
But when he saw this small newcomer, his soul was
all ablaze with bliss. In a moment. The next moment
he was showing off with all his might, cuffing boys,
pulling hair, making faces, in a word, using every art

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that seemed likely to fascinate a girl and win her applause.
His exaltations had but one alloy the memory of his
humiliation in this angel's garden, and that record in sand
was fast washing out under the waves of happiness that
were sweeping over it. Now the visitors were given the
highest seat of honor, and as soon as mister Walter's

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speech was finished, he introduced them to the school. The
middle aged man turned out to be a prodigenous personage
no less a one than the County Judge, altogether the
most august creation these children had ever looked upon. And
they wondered what kind of material he was made of,
And they half wanted to hear him roar, and were
half afraid he might too. He was from Constantinople, twelve

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miles away, so he had traveled and seen the world.
These very eyes had looked upon the County court House,
which was said to have a tin roof. The awe
which these reflections inspired was attested by the impressive silences
and the ranks of staring eyes. This was the great
Judge Thatcher, brother of their own lawyer, Jeff Thatcher, immediately

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went forward to be familiar with the great man and
be envied by the school. It would have been music
to his soul to hear the whisperings, Look at him, Jim,
he's a goin up there, say look, he's a going
to shake hands with him. He is shaking hands with him,
by jings. Don't you wish you was? Jeff? Mister Walters
fell to showing off with all sorts of official bustlings

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and activities, giving orders and delivering judgments, discharging directions here there,
everywhere that he could find a target. The librarian showed off,
running hither and thither with his arms full of books,
and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that
in the authority delights in. The young lady teachers showed off,

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bending sweetly over pupils that were lately being boxed, lifting
pretty warning fingers at bad little boys, and patting good
ones lovingly. The young gentlemen teachers showed off with small
scoldings and other little displays of authority and fine attention
to discipline. And most of the teachers of both sexes
found business up at the library by the pulpit, and

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it was business that frequently had to be done over
again two or three times, with much seeming vexation. The
little girls showed off in various ways, and the little
boys showed off with such diligence that the air was
thick with paper wads and the murmur of scuffling. And
above it all the great man sat and beamed a
majestic judicial smile upon all the house, and warmed himself

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in the sun of his own grandeur, for he was
showing off too. There was only one thing wanting to
make mister Walter's ecstasy complete that was a chance to
deliver a Bible prize and exhibit a prodigy. Several pupils
had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough, and
he had been around among the star pupils inquiring. He

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would have given worlds now to have that German lad
back again with a sound mind. And now at this moment,
when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward with nine
yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones and
demanded a Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a
clear sky. Walters was not expecting an application from this

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source for the next ten years, but there was no
getting around it. Here were the certified checks, and they
were good for their face. Tom was therefore elevated to
a place with a judge and the other elect, and
the great news was announced from headquarters. It was the
most stunning surprise of the decade, and so profound was
the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to

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the judicial one's altitude, and the school had two marvels
to gaze upon in place of one. The boys were
all eaten up with envy, and those that suffered the
bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that they
themselves had contributed to this hated splendor by trading tickets
to Tom for the wealth he had amassed in selling
whitewashing privileges. These despised themselves as being the dupes of

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a wily fraud, a guileful snake in the grass. The
prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as
the superintendent could pump up under the circumstances, but it
lacked somewhat of the true gush. For the poor fellow's
instinct taught him that there was a mystery here that
could not well bear the light. Perhaps it was simply

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preposterous that this boy had warehoused two thousand sheaves of
scriptural wisdom on his premises. A dozen would strain his capacity.
Without a doubt. Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and
she tried to make Tom see it in her face,
but he wouldn't look. She wondered, then she was just
a grain troubled. Next, a dim suspicion came and went

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came again. She watched a furtive glance told her worlds,
and then her heart broke, and she was jealous and angry,
and the tears came, and she hated everybody, Tom most
of all, she thought. Tom was introduced to the judge,
but his tongue was tied, his breath would hardly come.
His heart quaked, partly because of the awful greatness of

(30:21):
the man, but mainly because he was her parent. He
would have liked to fall down and worship him if
it were in the dark. The judge put his hand
on Tom's head and called him a fine little man
and asked him what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped,
and got it out, Tom. Oh, no, not Tom, It
is Thomas. Ah, that's it. I thought there was more

(30:45):
to it. Maybe that's very well. But you've another one,
I dare say, and you'll tell it to me, won't
you tell the gentleman your other name? Thomas, said Walters,
and say, sir, you mustn't forget your manners. Thomas sawyer, sir,
that's it. That's a good boy, fine boy, fine manly
little fellow. Two thousand verses is a great many, very

(31:06):
very great many. And you never can be sorry for
the trouble you took to learn them. For knowledge is
worth more than anything there is in the world. It's
what makes great men and good men. You'll be a
great man and a good man yourself some day, Thomas,
And then you'll look back and say, it's all owing
to the precious Sunday school privileges of my boyhood. It's

(31:26):
all owing to my dear teachers that taught me to learn.
It's all owing to the good superintendent who encouraged me
and watched over me, and gave me a beautiful Bible,
a splendid, elegant bible to keep and have it all
for my own always. It's all owing to write bringing up.
That is what you will say, Thomas. And you wouldn't

(31:47):
take any money for those two thousand verses, No, indeed
you wouldn't. And now you wouldn't mind telling me and
this lady some of the things you've learned. No, I
know you wouldn't, for we are proud of little boys
that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names of
all the twelve disciples, won't you tell us the names
of the first two that were appointed. Tom was tugging

(32:07):
at a button hole and looking sheepish. He blushed now
and his eyes fell. Mister Walter's heart sank within him.
He said to himself, it is not possible that the
boy can answer the simplest question, why did the judge
ask him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up and say,
answer the gentleman, Thomas, don't be afraid. Tom still hung fire.

(32:31):
Now I know you'll tell me, said the lady. The
names of the first two disciples were David and Goliath.
Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest
of the scene. End of Chapter four